Suspicious Minds

by Christy Barritt

  Which of my suspects was capable of doing this? Did Lynette have some hidden tech genius inside? Doubted it. Jamie? Doubted it even more. Rodger Maloney might be capable of it. I remembered all that computer equipment scattered around in his office.

  I shivered. I didn't want to think about my own personal crime scene. The next day, after a fitful night of sleep, I cleaned Mr. Hermit's house. I was almost finished with the project, but I had to stop early in order to clean up after an accidental death-by-power-tool. Surprisingly, the scene wasn't too messy, but the family wanted me to remove any reminders of what had happened. The job probably took two hours altogether, and that's only because I threw in some extra services, things like adding some sanitizer to the air and wiping down surfaces around the scene. I take my job seriously and want to leave the houses sparkling and families comforted.

  At home that afternoon-after checking on Sierra, who'd been released on bond with a temporary restraining order-I had to make some phone calls, starting with the man who designed my Web site. He said he had a backup of my site and would get my space live again in a couple of days. I didn't bother to ask how much he would charge. I didn't want to know.

  Afterward, I briefly considered calling my dad to acknowledge his e-mail. I decided not to. I'd wait first and see if he'd walk the talk. Anyone could claim to change. The hard part was actually doing it.

  I cast thoughts of my dad aside, realizing they were getting me nowhere. Instead, I found the number of the Las Vegas hotel where Darnell was supposed to headline. I called and asked to speak to the event coordinator. I was then directed to someone in marketing, who directed me to someone else whose title I instantly forgot.

  A fast-talking man came on the line. "What can I do for you?"

  I stared at the picture of the glitzy hotel on my computer screen and visualized Darnell Evans standing outside of it. The images just didn't mesh in my mind. "I'm wondering about an act you had lined up to come in. I can't find it listed on your Web site, though. It's for an Elvis tribute artist named Darnell Evans. He's supposed to be headlining a show at your hotel"

  The man laughed. And continued laughing. An all-out laugh. Not just a chuckle.

  What was going on?

  "Lady, we don't have any Elvis impersonators do shows here. You must be thinking of a hotel somewhere on the other side of the strip. We're a classy joint. You know, we have people like Celine and Barry, even Mariah. But no Elvis"

  I tapped my finger against my mouse. "I guess I don't need to ask you if you're sure about that"

  He hung up, still laughing.

  I put the phone down and leaned back in my computer chair. So Darnell had lied about getting his own show. Why would he do that? What exactly was he planning? And when did he plan on telling people?

  While I was on the net, I decided to search for Mr. Hermit's family. I'd found some photos in his closet, and one of them had a name on the back. I liked to imagine that the boy in the photo was Mr. Hermit's son, that they'd lost touch, but that the son would be exceedingly happy to find out his father still loved him. That he'd be saddened by his death and grateful that I was thinking about throwing a funeral for the man he called Dad.

  I typed in the man's first name with Mr. Hermit's last name. Twelve entries appeared. I ruled out five of them just based on the birth date that came up. I decided to start calling the rest of them.

  The first two numbers had no answers. The third was an answering machine with a different name on it. The fourth rang and rang. I was about to hang up when a man came on the line.

  "Hi, I'm trying to find the family of Richard Spruce."

  Silence reigned a moment, and I held my breath. Finally, he said, "This is his son"

  I stood and paced my way into the kitchen. "Just to confirm we're speaking of the same Richard Spruce, did your father live in Virginia Beach?"

  "Yes, he did"

  Wow, I'd actually found the man's son. With the phone under my chin, I propelled myself onto the kitchen counter, one of my favorite places to sit and think. I gripped the phone and tried to think of the right words.

  "Sir, I'm sorry to tell you that your father has passed away." My eyes locked on the parking lot outside as I awaited his response.

  "Yeah, I know." The man's voice sounded icy. I continued anyway, determined to do my good deed.

  "I'm in the process of going through your father's things and-"

  "I don't care what you do with them. Same thing I told my father's landlord. I hadn't spoken to my father in fifteen years. I didn't want anything to do with him while he was living, and I sure don't want anything to do with him in dying."

  The sadness I felt surprised even me. "I see"

  He grunted, and I feared he might hang up.

  "Sir?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Are there any other family members who might care?"

  "Just me. And I don't give a-" The man hung up the phone before I could hear the rest of his sentence.

  I put the phone down and looked out the window some more at the sunny day outside. What had happened between the man and his son? How could it have been so bad that not even death could mend the hurt?

  It looked like I'd be planning that funeral after all.

  I picked up the phone and called Amy to see if the church would help out. I'd planned one funeral in my life, and I didn't really desire to plan another one by myself. Amy didn't answer-probably at work-so I left a message. Between the church and Chad, I should be able to plan something.

  As soon as I hung up, the phone rang. Maybe Amy was monitoring her calls. I snatched the phone up and said, "Thanks for calling back"

  "Gabby?"

  The voice didn't sound like Amy's.

  "Yes?"

  "This is Charlie"

  Of course. Charlie. I didn't have time to commiserate. Her voice sounded strained.

  "Gabby, Parker's been shot. You need to come to the hospital now."

  "GABBY?"

  I looked up to see Riley sliding his key into the door to his apartment. A wrinkle formed between his eyes, and he stepped toward me.

  I bypassed my friend and started downstairs, holding tight to the railing so I wouldn't stumble. "I can't talk."

  "What's wrong?"

  I heard footsteps behind me.

  "I have to get to the hospital"

  "Why?"

  I stopped on the first floor, and Riley collided into me. I turned around and wanted to crumple into my friend's arms. "Parker was shot. By a bank robber. In his chest. They don't know if he'll make it"

  Suddenly, Riley had my keys. "I'm driving."

  Riley was probably just home for lunch break. He had important cases to work on, people to help, appointments to keep. He was a busy lawyer. "You don't have to. You're working." I reached for my keys.

  His hand grasped my elbow, guiding me outside. "I insist."

  A moment later, I sat in the passenger seat of his well-used Toyota Corolla. It sputtered to life, and I stared at the world around me as Riley drove to Norfolk General. I closed my eyes, picturing a bullet entering Parker's chest, close to his heart. I imagined the pain on his face, the grimace. The tough guy giving in to a gut-wrenching cry.

  The last time I'd spoken to Parker, our conversation had been tense. I didn't even tell him that I was being aloof because I felt insecure about Charlie. I just left it a mystery for him to figure out. He'd sighed and left.

  What if that was our last conversation?

  The hospital was only a couple of blocks away. Riley parked and then slipped his arm around me as we hurried into the emergency room. It was as if he knew I might turn to gel at any moment-and yes, the human body really could turn into gel. I'd seen it with my own eyes.

  I spotted Charlie sitting with a few other uniforms. Our eyes connected, and she stood. I rushed to her. "How is he?"

  Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying. "He's in surgery"

  "And?"

  She remained stiff. "And that's all we
know."

  "Did you catch the person who did this?"

  She nodded once. "We did"

  "I hope he rots in jail"

  I sat in an uncomfortable chair across from Charlie, Riley beside me, leaning on his knees and his eyes closed. Praying maybe?

  Please God, let him be okay.

  There I was praying again. But none of my usual cynical thoughts emerged with the prayer. This time I wanted to believe. I wanted there to be a God who cared about whether Parker made it or not. I wanted to have a hope that a higher being was in charge.

  Hours ticked by. Someone brought me some coffee, a doughnut. No doubt it was a police officer. They liked stuff like coffee and doughnuts apparently. And here I was thinking my sarcastic thoughts even in the midst of possibly losing my boyfriend. What was wrong with me? Couldn't I turn my sarcasm off even for a minute?

  I might lose my boyfriend. I mean sure, we didn't always get along. But I didn't want things to end this way. He was still Parker. My Parker. He was the one who called me names and made fun of me for investigating cases I wasn't supposed to investigate. If something happened to him ...

  Finally, a man in scrubs came through the doors. Charlie perked, so I figured this must be the surgeon. Parker's surgeon.

  I held my breath. I didn't want to hear what he had to say. I wanted to hear it.

  Charlie and I both approached.

  The surgeon's wrinkled face looked exhausted. "He's okay."

  I let out the breath I held. Thank you, Jesus.

  "The bullet missed his heart by less than a centimeter," the surgeon continued. "He must have had someone watching over him"

  "Can we see him?" Charlie beat me to the question.

  "He's resting now. It's probably better if you just come back tomorrow and give him tonight to recover"

  "But he shouldn't be alone" No one should be alone during hard times.

  "His sister is with him"

  Parker had a sister? I think I vaguely remembered hearing about her. Still, it was weird that she was here and in the room with Parker, and I didn't even know it.

  What did I really know about that man? Our conversations had never been particularly deep, but ... Parker had a sister?

  Riley led me again to his car. It was dark outside. I didn't have any words, only exhaustion.

  Back at home, I fell into bed, something in my heart feeling unsettled.

  I NEEDED to put the finishing touches on Mr. Hermit's house the next morning. But first I had to visit Parker. Maybe meet his sister. Then I had another job to do in the evening.

  I parked at the hospital, went inside, and was directed to the ICU. I buzzed in to the nurses, and they unlocked the door to the unit. Once inside, I passed patients wearing blah hospital gowns, hooked up to beeping machines, and surrounded by family members with red, tired eyes. The nurse had said that Parker's bed would be the fifth on the right.

  I stopped when I heard familiar voices. Charlie was already here. Go figure.

  I peered around the corner, unnoticed.

  What I saw muted the world to me.

  Parker and Charlie stared at each other, smiling, murmuring.

  The thing is, I'd never seen Parker look at me like that. Never.

  And I can't say that I'd ever looked at Parker the way Charlie gazed at him. Ever.

  Parker spotted me. A different kind of grin spread across his face. He held out his arm. "Gabby"

  I forced a smile, though inwardly reeling over the realization that my boyfriend was in love with someone else. I wasn't even sure if he knew it.

  "Hey, you" I grabbed his hand on the opposite side of the bed from Charlie.

  I'd never seen Parker look like this. Circles under his eyes. Perfectly styled hair out of place. Skin pale. Wearing an outfit that cost less than two hundred dollars. His eyes looked doped up still, and I had no doubt that some type of painkiller was dripping in through that IV.

  He kissed my hand and then patted the bed beside him.

  I carefully lowered myself there. "You gave us a scare."

  "Yeah, I gave myself a scare"

  Charlie cleared her throat. "I'll be back later. I'll give you two some privacy.

  Parker nodded. Watched her walk away. Turned back to me.

  "You okay?"

  I nodded, feeling like I should be the one asking him that question. "Yeah. Now that I know you're okay"

  "I owe my life to that woman, you know."

  "What woman?"

  He smiled, though weakly. "Charlie:"

  "How so?"

  "She was about to take the bullet for me. Pushed me out of the way. That bullet could have hit my heart, I hear. Then she called for backup and tracked down the guy who shot me"

  "Wow, she sounds like some kind of woman."

  "I guess she's been all over the news this morning:'

  I hadn't watched. No time. I had to break my normal routine because I was running out of hours.

  "Where's your sister?" I looked around the area for evidence that she'd been here.

  "She had to go home to take care of her kids. She'll be back later"

  She lived that close? Why didn't I know that? It seemed like something you'd tell your girlfriend.

  Parker's eyelids drooped. This wasn't the time to ask him about his family. Instead, I squeezed his hand. "Get some rest:"

  "Come back later?"

  I smiled, though I knew it didn't touch my eyes. "Of course:"

  Before I stood, he was asleep.

  I had to call Amy back again. She'd left a message on my machine. Said there was a small group meeting tonight at Riley's. That I should attend and talk about the funeral. It would be casual. There'd be free food.

  Free food, the key to every single's heart.

  Before I could dial her number, Chad called.

  "What are you up to today?" he asked.

  Did I even want to mention Parker? Not really. I'd keep to the basics. "Just doing a few jobs. And you?"

  "Trying to figure out what I'm going to do."

  "You could help me" What had I just said? Chad Davis was my competition. I wanted to retract my hasty words.

  "I'd love to"

  I paused. "Really?" I considered my options. It would be really nice to have someone helping me. My day would go by faster, the work would be halved.

  "Of course. Apparently you've got the market on crime-scene cleaning in the area. I'm finding it hard to break in."

  Pride swelled in me. Ha! Take that Chad Davis.

  "Fine then. Since you're desperate" I waited for a reaction, but when I heard none I continued. "Meet me at the job site" I rattled off the address.

  I continued, not believing what had just transpired. I hoped I wouldn't regret this.

  I was packing up the last of Mr. Hermit's things when I heard a knock at the door. I found Chad standing on the front steps with a dopey grin on his face. "I'm here to serve"

  "Just what I like to hear" I started walking back down the hallway. "The man's son gave the landlord permission to sell all of Mr. Hermit's possessions. The furniture has already been taken away, and I'm just going through the small stuff now, deciding what can be thrown away and what can be donated"

  "Did you say Mr. Hermit? Is that the man's name?"

  "Not really. Sometimes I give people names like that because it makes them seem less real. Then I get less emotionally involved"

  "Why do I have a feeling that's not true?"

  "Okay, it's in an effort to get less emotionally involved"

  "There's nothing wrong with showing some emotions."

  "I want to be a scientist"

  "You are a scientist. Even scientists have feelings"

  "No, feelings cripple me. They don't allow me to be objective"

  "Is anyone really objective?"

  "I don't know." I turned on my heel and headed back down the hallway. "Right now I'm down to the nitty-gritty of receipts and past tax returns. Nothing too compelling. I'm thinking I should be
able to finish up here today. Then I have another job to go to. If I still like you by the end of this job, you're welcome to join me on the next"

  "How kind of you."

  I pointed to the largest box in the corner. "You take that one. I'll finish here" I picked up a shoebox.

  "Again, your kindness is astounding" He knelt beside the box. "So what am I doing again?"

  "Just make sure he doesn't have any diamond rings or insurance policies hidden in those papers"

  I'm sure his son would be more than happy to collect on those, though he wanted nothing to do with his father's death.

  "So, how did you get started in doing this, Gabby?"

  "My mom died; I had to drop out of college because of mounting bills. I wanted to do something that made me feel like I wasn't a total and complete failure in the life department"

  "Giving up your dreams for your family is noble."

  "Is it noble if it's driven by guilt?"

  He didn't say anything. And for some reason, I continued.

  "My brother was kidnapped on my watch when I was ten years old. It turned my family upside down. My father started drinking again. Stopped working. My mother had to get a part-time job on top of her forty-hour-aweek job. I think my father's always blamed me. That's why he doesn't feel guilty collecting money from my paycheck. It's retribution."

  "What happened with your brother?"

  "He was never found." In my best nightmare, I imagined him growing up with another family and thinking everything was normal. That he had a mother and father that showed him some kind of twisted love and that they'd kidnapped him to fill an empty void in their life. In my worst nightmares ... well, I never went there. I couldn't.

  "Did you find it hard to get started in this business?"

  I shrugged, remembering those early days of feeling totally out of my zone. I'd kept my chin up and pretended like I knew what I was doing. "I started cold. Big mistake. I didn't think I needed any training to clean houses. I mean, I knew enough about hazmat materials to know you just didn't stick them in the Dumpster. But I quickly discovered that I needed more. I got certified, and I still take courses on occasion so I can be the best crime-scene cleaner possible. I keep adding equipment to the business" I left out the fact that a few months ago much of my equipment had been burned when a house I was cleaning was set on fire. Thankfully, I was insured.